June+22+Logger

Logger Notes for Day 8 By Becky Jo

Well, we gathered in the grand square for day 8 of this here writin’ institution. Wooo Weeee, it was hot up in here, 212 degrees as a matter of fact. Good ole Dan lead us in our Do-Si-Do with a prompt that got us to thinkin’ bout our fee-loss-o-fee. Jeff allemanded to the left round the idere of gettin’ his athaletes practicin’ harder while Dennis allemanded to the right roun’ perseeverance and spiritual tools and such. Then the ladies, Christine and Nancy, formed a chain roun’ the ideres of faith in others and carin’. Shirleen vowed to love and support her husband, you go girl! Ya gotta preciate that, seein’ as her husband is a big fan of one of them there TeeVee shows of upmost qualitee, Walker Texas Ranger. Kendra and Sam showed much bravery with their sharin’ of forgiveness and failure. We preciate ya all bein’ able to share such personal experiences with this here group of writin’ fledglings. Meg pointed out the awesome strength of her daughter Miriam in dealin’ with her endometriosis. We were sorry to here bout Marilyn’s dawg takin’ ill. Did ya all know dawgs lick their paws when they have them there allergees? After we got all het up over our fee-loss-o-fees it was declared by Sam it was time for a hooch break! Gollee, she read my mind!

Shirleen got us back in the square with her teacher demo bout the techneek of plannin. We gotta fold paper real careful like into six sections so as to get all the parts of what’s called one of them there narrative essays. She read us a real neat book called, Make Way For Ducklings by Robert McClosky. We circled round great writin’ ideas such as Sandy’s Beaver and the Barn, Christine’s flowers don’t die, Linley’s sibling rivalry, Taralyn’s fishing for ideres. Jeff was ridin’ in one of those there fancy artermobiles like he was James Bond or somthin. Marilyn was the girl that couldn’t, and Sam thinkin’ bout the hooch again with stories bout beer cans under the porch, or some such thing. Nancy was flyin’ away with lady bugs. Dennis promenaded us through some very thoughtful literature bout diverse cultures, the golden rule, The Way of Ignorance. I don’t right understand it all, but I was thinkin’ he might of been makin’ fun of me and my kinfolk fer a second or two, but my feathers didn’t stay ruffled for long cuz he went on to talk bout them there Indian folk and there prayers. He ended with a story bout how First You Have to Row a Little Boat. Those there little boats are great for fishin! Hold up! It’s time for some grub and boy howdy we’re all headin’ to that there great waterin’ hole called Danny Boys! Wooo Weee, I ate so much I had to loosen my belt a notch er two!

Good ole Danny Boy was up to bat again with his article summary, “Challenges in Composition”. He said we need to persuade students to write, get somethin’ for nothin’ or was it somthin’ from nothin’? Oh yeah, it must be from nothin’, silly ole me. I need to do what he suggested and slow down a bit, edit, and then he said somethin’ bout writin’ to a wider audience. I kinda thought thin people might feel left out or somethin’ but whatever works I guess. We deescust chapter two of the text and talked bout how powerful words are, bout as powerful as my daddie’s John Deere Tractor but not as powerful as Christine. Did ya all know she’s queen of everything?! We did more jawin’ bout rewritin’ opportoonitees, providin’ several writin’ prompts, and usin’ colors to highlight, somethin’ bout rasheo sentencin’ or some such thing. We lerned bout the portance of makin a connection between readin’ and writin’ and how writin’ slows things down a bit. I don’t think I need to slow down much more or I’ll be goin in reverse.

After swingin’ all these here ideres bout writin’ all afternoon, I was plum tuckered out. But before I call er a day I’d like to share with you a poem my cousin Billy Bob wrote., since this here is a writin’ institution and all.

Collards is green, my dawg’s name is Blue and I’m so lucky to have a sweet thang like you. Yore hair is like cornsilk a-flappin in the breeze. Softer than Blue’s and without all them fleas. You move like the bass, which excite me in May. You ain’t got no scales, but I luv you anyway. Yo’re as satisfy’n as okry jist a-fry’n in the pan. Yo’re as fragrant as “snuff” right out of the can. You have some’a yore teeth, for which I am proud; I hold my head high when we’re in a crowd. On special occasions, when you shave under yore arms, Well, I’m in hawg heaven, and awed by yore charms. Still them fellers at work, they all want to know, What I did to deserve such a purdy, young doe. Like a good roll of duct tape yo’re there fer yore man, To patch up life’s troubles and fix what you can. Yo’re as cute as a junebug a buzzin’ overhead. You ain’t mean like those far ants I found in my bed. Cut from the best cloth like a plaid flannel shirt. You spark up my life more than a fresh load of dirt. When you hold me real tight like a padded gunrack. My life is complete; Ain’t nuttin’ I lack. Yore complexion, it’s perfection, like the best vinyl sidin, Despite all the years, yore age, it keeps hidin’ Me’n’ you’s like a Moon Pie with a RC cold drank, We go together like a skunk goes with stank. Some men, they buy chocolate for Valentine’s Day; They git it at Wal-Mart, it’s romantic that way. Some men git roses on that special day From the cooler at Dillons. “That’s impressive, “ I say. Some men buy fine diamonds from a flea market booth; Diamonds are forever,’ they explain, suave and couth. But for this man, honey, these won’t do. Cause yor’e too special, you sweet thang you. I got you a gift, without taste nor odor, More useful than diamonds….IT’S A NEW TROLL’N MOTOR!!!